I think you’re the only actor who can play the Godfather

Published in 1969, Mario Puzo's novel The Godfather tells the story of the (fictional) Corleone mafia family, headed by patriarch Vito Corleone. The book covers the years 1945 until 1955, with its main storyline following son Michael who eventually succeeds his father as head of the mafia clan. Puzo's novel became a huge success, remaining on The New York Times bestseller list for 67 weeks and selling more than nine million copies in just two years. 

Before Mario Puzo had even finished his novel, Paramount Pictures bought the film rights for $80,000, on the basis of a 60-page treatment. To direct the film, Paramount hired Francis Ford Coppola after several other directors had declined (including Sergio Leone, Peter Bogdanovich and Otto Preminger). Coppola would work on the script with author Puzo, the latter hired by the studio in April 1970. They worked on the script separately, Puzo in Los Angeles and Coppola in San Francisco. While writing their respective screenplays, the men kept in touch with each other, their combined efforts ultimately resulting in a completed script in March 1971.

From the start, even before he was hired by Paramount to work on the picture, Puzo already knew who should portray the family's patriarch —Marlon Brando. (Brando was also Coppola's first choice.) In order to entice Brando to play the role, on 23 January 1970 Puzo wrote him the following letter.

Source: Gotta Have Rock and Roll

Transcript:

Jan 23

Dear Mr Brando

I wrote a book called THE GODFATHER which has had some success and I think you’re the only actor who can play the part Godfather with that quiet force and irony (the book is an ironical comment on American society) the part requires. I hope you’ll read the book and like it well enough to use whatever power you can to get the role.

I’m writing Paramount to the same effect for whatever good that will do.

I know this was presumptuous of me but the least I can do for the book is try. I really think you’d be tremendous. Needless to say I’ve been an admirer of your art.

Mario Puzo

A mutual friend, Jeff Brown, gave me your address

_____

Brando was not interested in the role despite Puzo's letter. The actor later said in his autobiography Songs My Mother Taught Me (1994): "Alice Marchak [Brando's secretary] remembers my throwing [Puzo's letter] away and saying, "I'm not a Mafia godfather". I had never played an Italian before, and I didn't think I could do it successfully. By then I had learned that one of the biggest mistakes an actor can make is to try to play a role for which he is miscast .... But Alice took the book home, read it and said she thought I should take the part if it was offered me. She didn't change my mind, though I did call Mario without having read the book and thanked him for his note." 

While working on the screenplay, Puzo called Brando every now and then, pleading with him to reconsider his decision. Puzo was also lobbying at Paramount on Brando's behalf (without the actor's knowledge) but his attempts proved futile. The studio didn't want Brando for the role, partly due to his notorious bad behaviour on set and his recent box-office failures. Paramount's preferred choice was reportedly Orson Welles, and other actors who were being considered include Laurence Olivier, Anthony Quinn and Ernest Borgnine. Unable to make the Paramount executives change their minds, Puzo typed this letter to Brando in March 1970.

Source: RR Auction

Mario Puzo and Marlon Brando on the set of The Godfather, pictured here with Red Buttons (left). (Buttons and Brando had become good friends after co-starring in the 1957 Sayonara.)

In the end, after reading both the novel and the screenplay, Brando decided he wanted to play Don Corleone after all. Paramount finally regarded him as a serious option but wanted to do a screen test first. Afraid that a test would offend Brando, Coppola thought of a way to do one secretly. He visited Brando at his home with a video camera and told him, after first having discussed the role, that he wanted to test some things on tape. With Kleenex stuffed in his cheeks and shoe polish in his hair, Brando then did his interpretation of Don Corleone for Coppola, not realising he was being screentested. The footage impressed Paramount and they finally agreed to Brando playing the role. Brando was cast in January 1971, just a few months before production was to start. His performance turned out to be one of the most iconic of his career, earning him the Oscar for Best Actor (which he famously declined).

The Godfather (1972) was a huge success, both with critics and audiences. The film won the Academy Award for Best Picture (Albert S. Ruddy), Best Actor (Brando) and Best Adapted Screenplay (Puzo and Coppola). It was followed by two sequels, The Godfather Part II (1974) and The Godfather Part III (1990). Brando appeared only in the first Godfather film. 

On the set of The Godfather with director Francis Ford Coppola (left), Marlon Brando and Al Pacino, the latter playing the role of Vito Corleone's youngest son, Michael.

All three occasions cling to my memory as fun experiences

Barry Sullivan and Barbara Stanwyck made three films together. Their first picture was John Sturges' film noir Jeopardy (1953), followed by two westerns, Joseph Kane's The Maverick Queen (1956) and Samuel Fuller's Forty Guns (1957). Sullivan enjoyed making all three films with Barbara, even though —as he says in the letter below to Ella Smith from March 1972— "only Jeopardy [stuck in his] mind as having any merit". In his letter, the actor talks about working with Barbara, while elaborately singing her praises and jokingly admitting to being "in love with the lady". Ella Smith was the author of the 1973 Starring Miss Barbara Stanwyck, and Sullivan's letter was his contribution to the book. As can be seen in previous posts (here and here), other people had also sent letters to Smith about their collaborations with Barbara, each of them praising the actress for her character and professionalism.

Barry Sullivan and Barbara Stanwyck in Jeopardy

Source: eBay

Transcript:

10/3/72

Dear Ms Smith,

This note is probably too late for your deadline, but I do want you to know I am not really a rude SOB. Your letters re Barbara have just caught up. What circuitous route they traveled only God may know, but please understand I was not resisting a chance to expound on one of the more divine people I have known. (Allow me to throw down a few impressions for your personal edification and say good luck with the book)

Most of your replies to date, I am certain, have included glowing words about Missy's fantastic professionalism (and every word justified, by the way), but professionalism is nonsense if unaccompanied by heart.

Of the films I did with Miss Stanwyck only JEOPARDY sticks in my mind as having any merit, but all three occasions cling to my memory as fun experiences. This may seem a minor thing in discussing a fabulous artist, but, Dammit, in my book it looms very formidably. We start out in this business thinking of it as a glorious adventure and "fun", and all too often it seems like drudgery. You know you're not doing your best work when something is drudgery, right? When you work with the lady you know damn well it is fun and thus the glorious adventure you always dreamed about and you come up a couple of octaves.

All great artists have this one thing in common. Tracy had it, Bette Davis has it, George C. Scott has it, young Robert Foxworth has it -- They give it their very best shot regardless of the calibre of the material. And Barbara most certainly has it in large quantity.

We don't always get Arthur Miller or Lillian Hellman to perform. It is common knowledge that most of the material today borders on the mediocre. It would be easy, and perhaps forgiveable, if one were to sluff, or, as we say "walk through it" using only part of whatever God has given you. You'll never find Barbara doing that. I think maybe she might have worked harder when the writing was thin. She just damned well pulled it up to her level and everybody else in the cast could do no less.

I guess I am labeling her "inspirational", and she would laugh uproariously at that word. The ability to laugh, though, is perhaps what makes her so damn great. The set was always loose. No phony tensions that can distract from the job at hand. Young actors and actresses, perhaps on a first job and understandably somewhat nervous would lose the nervousness and begin to enjoy. I've seen her, too, with some of our senior performers who might be up tight (it happens at both ends of the spectrum, God help us). Her infinite patience, her joshing way, her generosity in blaming herself to reduce pressures when a scene would blow - all these things are marks of professionalism mayhap, but I rather feel they are the marks of one great human being.

This carried over to the technical people, too. She knew their problems always. Always their mechanical problems that beset all film making, and almost always their personal problems. If a director goofed because he had a hangover maybe, she was better than Bromo; If a prop man forgot something because the baby was sick at home, she was better than pediatrician; If a makeup man started applying the wrong color because he was preoccupied about a fight with his girl friend, she was better than Max Factor. What else can I tell you? One can go on ad infinitum. Bear in mind, however, that none of this was phony bleeding heart concern- it was and is all genuine.

If all this gush sounds like I'm in love with the lady, I plead guilty. My fondest hope is that I will walk on a set one day soon and and [sic] find her waiting. (as she will tell you, I am always late dammit). I know I will have one helluva good time and that's what it's all about, isn't it?

Sincerely

(signed) Barry Sullivan

Sullivan and Stanwyck in The Maverick Queen (above) and in Forty Guns (below). The Maverick Queen is, I think, by far their weakest film and Forty Guns their best.